My Joyful Things

As a massive fan of Ninja Book Swap when Bex tweeted about Parcels of Joy I knew it was something I really wanted on board with.  Much as I enjoy getting parcels, I prefer sending them.  Choosing things I think people will love, cracking open the stationery supplies and annoying the Post Office coven by expecting them to help me and refusing to let their scowls erase my "I'm going to beat you into submission with my sunny optimism" grin.  What's not to love?

I'm also a huge believer in spreading a little kindness and the great things that can be achieved with little acts.  J.R.R. Tolkien explains it perfectly:

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The things that bring me the most joy are of course people not things.  That said, people come with a side order of stress headaches, or is that just the people I associate with?  So I'm going to focus on the things that bring me joy that could potentially fit through the letterbox and wouldn't object to being stuffed in a box and posted.

I did try and write this in sentences and paragraphs but one of the things that brings me joy is list making.  In the spirt of joy I even broke out the bullet points.

• Purple Its been my favourite since I learnt the word and I am still as determined to make everything purple as I was when I was 3.  My bike, favourite DMs, satchel, purse, best fountain pen, hair, youngest child's buggy and lots of my other favourite things are all purple. 
• Stationery Actually this is probably an addiction, but an addiction which brings me lots and lots of joy. Bring me all the notebooks, washi tape and pens. I won't actually use them I will just hoard them and go look at the hoard and feel happy and content.  Then maybe a little guilty that I haven't used anything, but that passes quickly.
• Toadstools no idea where this mild obsession comes from.  I have quite the collection spread around the house, from salt and pepper shakers to fridge magnets. Need them all.
• Salt and Pepper Shakers Love me a bit of kitchen kitch.  One of the all time best things g has ever bought me is the Cookie Monster and cookie jar set - he will probably never understand me but g knows how to make me smile.
• Wonder Woman my heroine.  When I grow up I want to be Wonder Woman, the only thing holding me back is my inability to grow up.
• Sunflowers My wedding flowers.  I never fail to smile at their sunny yellow amazingness.
• Fairy Tales Adore Red Riding Hood in all her guises.  But also like the weird and wonderful and because I'm a patriotic wee soul traditional Scottish tales of Selkies, Kelpies and the like.
• Rainbows This list does nothing but demonstrate that I am basically an overgrown toddler and of course rainbows and all their pretty colours appeal.  The fact that they also go hand in hand with puddle jumping may be something to do with the attraction.
• Knee High Socks A completely practical new obsession.  After knackering my ankle I can't really do ankle socks.  Unfortunately, I have a calf girth that only an East German shot put champion would envy and it is a struggle finding any that fit.  Also where are all the pretty knee high socks? I can only find boring and plain ones.  I like my socks with a side order of mental and enough colours to counter the fact that every other stitch of my clothing is black.
• Coffee I'm not sure I can put it into words.  Without coffee the world is a bleaker place for me and also for everyone who has the misfortune to come near a decaffeinated me!
• Capybaras They just make me happy in a way that I really don't want to understand.  I do love them I do!

I could go on.  I haven't mentioned stars, zombies, celtic mythology, maltesers or acrylic jewellery. This might be why the Post Office coven can't dull my sparkle, there really is quite a lot of joy to be found.

It's been a while

So, I haven't blogged in a wee while.  Is there a cut off point for when a wee while becomes fecking ages? Does 12 months class as a wee while or fecking ages?

Life has been getting in the way of living somewhat.

Recently I've been missing putting my musings somewhere other than my notebook.  A couple of months back I had decided on a new direction, title, theme, etc before something got in the way and distracted me.  The idea is still floating around and I might change, but for now I'm going to see how this goes again.

Who knows, I might even blog again before Christmas... 

Hitting the reset button

Well I've been a bit quiet for a while!  With 2 it's a lot easier to pretend that I'm far too busy. Of course I'm only fooling myself, and then only because I have my fingers in my ears singing 'la la la' to drown out the voice of reason.

I seem to have bought into the delusion that being a good Mum means completely sacrificing my needs and desires. With one child this is lunacy. With two children and an 8 year age gap it is dangerous. I'm not daft, I know this. So why has it been so easy to slip into these bad habits?

I am the first to preach that a happy primary carer is more important to a child's well being than anything. More important than the sex or sexual orientation of that primary carer, whether the child was breastfed, looked after while parents work or what the latest Daily Mail scaremongering is banging on about now. A happy (in this case) Mummy makes everything else possible. It's just when it comes to practising what I preach it goes a bit, ok a lot, wrong.

I haven't been making time to do many of the things that make me feel good. Spending the days catering to the every whim of two tiny tyrants at the expense of me. So when the kids are finally tucked up in bed I'm spent and then vegetating in front of the tv. Binging on trash. I'm not saying anything against trash tv, my love of it runs deep. So deep that I managed to watch an entire season of Once Upon a Time in 3 days. Whilst still being that 'no tv during the day' parent. Yep that's 22 episodes and approximately 17 hours of tv crammed into 3 evenings. Well, I say evenings but there were some pretty late nights going on there.

This morning I had a bit of a revelation. Unfortunately, it was less of the sun breaking through the clouds and more me completely loosing the rag with smudge. Not proud of this. Still falling victim to the tingly nose and wobbly bottom lip when I think about my shouting. But that's the killer about focusing completely on the kids. When they are little shits there is no way to explain it all away. 

Because, lets face it little shits they will be. Sometimes rarely, often not for very long. Sometimes because they have ASD and it's the summer holidays and plans change they can be quite spectacularly big shits. 

Even then I don't want to be 'ragey mama' I want to be calm and zen and floaty hippy skirted, lentil weaving mama. Except I'll probably stick to jeans and I'm still not sure I actually like lentils.

So I'm going to be a bit more selfish. I'm going to float through the day by remembering to take 15 minutes in the morning to meditate. I'm going to look dreamily at the clock and panic about what to feed everybody with because I've spent the afternoon lost in a book while the kids go feral. And I'm going to blog about all the fun I'm having and how much better family life is when I look after me.

And when I get it all wrong and scream like a banshee. I can blame all the time I spent neglecting them. Rather than feeling like a complete mug.

Guilty Pleasures

I don't really feel guilty about pleasure.

That said. I don't drink, smoke or partake in legal or illegal highs, or lows. The things that bring me pleasure are nothing to feel guilty about.

When I'm neglecting everything and everyone, sorry kids, with my nose in a book I am taking care of my mental faculties and setting a great example for the kids to read more.

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My coffee is fair trade so the more I drink the better for farmers in South America. If anyone ever works out just how much Cafe Direct Machu Picchu coffee I consume there will be a Peruvian village hastily renamed "Boobellinaville".

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Some may say my stationery hoard is out of control. I know how much people appreciate a handwritten note. Those cards, notepaper, stickers and washi spread joy and random acts of kindness.

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So there will be no guilt as a side order to my pleasure. Really I'm doing it all for someone else.

Self care Sunday

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Meditation is one of those things I've been trying to do for years. It has featured on my New Year resolutions, on and off, for over a decade.

If I meditate at any point after lunch it's not meditation it's a nap. But I'm not a morning person so before lunch I'm running around like a loon trying to find that extra hour I slept through. Bit of a disconnect there.

So I've been trying to retrain myself to be a morning person. Going to bed early and getting up at an ungodly hour (6am) to meditate, write and blissfully drink a cup of coffee before it goes stone cold or gets a toy dropped in it. 

The days that I manage to get up and get downstairs without waking up a child to bring with me are wonderful. The sense of achievement and calm really does last me all day. 

Now can someone just tell puff so that the wee terror starts sleeping through the night again. If I'm spending 2 hours in the middle of the night cuddling a baby who refuses to be horizontal I can't be held responsible for switching the alarm off before the first chime and grabbing some much needed shut eye!

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What day is it?

So I signed up for BEDM full of ideas and with reams of notes about the first few posts I was going to do.

The one thing I neglected to do was to work out what day it started on. Yeah I managed to spend all of yesterday unaware that it was May Day and under the impression that April had somehow grown at 31st. Nope I never did learn the 30 days rhyme.

In fairness this has provided a pretty good introduction. The internet equivalent of running in late, trailing chaos and apologies. Which as my friends and family will testify sums me up.

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The unsent letter

Today we had a visit from Puff's Social Worker. It was a planned visit so the house was clean, tidy and staged to create the impression it looks like that all the time. She brought a letter with her. From birth mum for when Puff is older.

Having a tiny bit of self awareness made me realise I didn't want to read this with an audience. A good choice; it reduced me to tears in the first sentence. 

The sadness, regret and promises to never forget her beautiful wee girl are heartbreaking. Even more so when you take into account all the missed opportunities and choices I might find easy to label stupid.

It won't help birth mum to get a letter from me but it doesn't mean I don't want to write one. I just won't be passing it to a social worker to get to her. 

Dear ****

We share a daughter. The little girl you kept safe and warm for 9 months is right now tucked up safe and warm in her bedroom in my house.

The tragedy of circumstances that led us to be here does not escape me. Yet I am unable to look at this with anything other than unbridled joy. 

She will grow up always knowing that both her Mum's love her. She will know she grew in your tummy but you just couldn't look after her so social work found us. 

She is a much wanted daughter, sister, granddaughter and niece and will grow up surrounded by people who only want good things for her. She will know to count you as one of the people wishing her the world and sending her love. And in time she will be told of the incredibly brave decision you made in signing the paperwork.

I'll keep your letter safe and when the time is right will be there to help her understand the love that went into the writing of it.

Thank you.